


Our Sunday

by LiotusWrites



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, with a dose of sexy time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiotusWrites/pseuds/LiotusWrites
Summary: Since Cor fell into his life, the Marshal brought nothing but goodness with him; no prejudice, animosity, judgment. A fact Titus had much trouble reconciling with, given the current state of the world and the man he’s forced to become.How can a nirvana like this exist for a man like himself?





	Our Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> For Titus Drautos Week!

 

In the late morning Titus looks out to the high window at the far end of his room, the curtains are drawn and the sun filters in its comforting warmth throughout. He breathes out slowly, wondering if he should be feeling as easy as he does now.

It’s a Sunday of all days.

A day for typical things that people would often do; sleeping in, a hearty breakfast, a carefree event or time with someone special. And beyond his four walls he knew everyone _was_ in fact, happy.

Titus found it hard to recall when he felt like such a day was possible, here in the bedroom of his modest apartment. A place normally reserved for sleeping and sleeping alone. The curtains should have been drawn tight; it was just easier to get up when it was a little darker – a trigger for him to begin whatever needed to be done at some obscenely early hour. He shouldn’t be wanting to lay there forever in the unusual softness of the bed sheets. Basking in the peace and sunlight amongst so many things clamouring in his mind seemed very wrong. Yet he found himself pushing whatever concerns far away for now.

Another stirs in the sheets beside him, and with a grunt he is awake as late in the morning as he.

Cors skin glows in the soft morning light as he languidly turns and curls up against Titus’ side. His blue eyes slowly open, looking right into the depths of curious brown. Cor looks at him, taking a moment to process that they were both awake.

“M-morning.” He’s still shy, Titus notes. Cor immediately turns on his back and looks away, stretching his long arms overhead. The restful captain keeps his eyes to the window and listens carefully to the movements next to him. He’s not exactly smiling at himself, rather, he is pleased.

The bed creaks, a bed far too small to accommodate two. Cor slides out and groans as he stretches further.

He cautiously offers, voice low and inquisitive “do you…want some coffee? Or should I go?”

“Coffee is good,” says Titus as casually as he can.

Cor quietly walks over to the other side of the bed, neither make eye contact. Titus eyes the way Cors naked form bends over to seize a set of discarded pants to pull them on. It was tempting to just reach out and feel the elegant way his spine curves at the small of his back, he’s just so close to him. The way the light plays its shadow over the curve of his muscles. He’s always so well conditioned, very few if any scars mar his perfect surface.

He’s so smooth, clean…fresh like the air of springtime where nothing but new life greeted all whom cared to open their arms to it.    

The Marshal, with his bed hair and slightly limped walk, closes the door to the bathroom. The sound of running water, a bit of shuffling about, something that sounds like brushing and more shuffling he couldn’t quite place. Cor emerges once more and their eyes meet for longer, with purpose. The Marshals eyes seem brighter, fresher, most of all calm. A look that said everything was still alright in the world.

They have been through this routine more then once. And every time felt like the first. Either one clueless as to what to say or do next, romance didn’t come naturally to them though not for the lack of trying.

The apartment Titus resided in felt spacious despite Cor being around to take up more space in the single bed, the table made for one and the couch barely enough for two. The home was brighter when Cor opened the kitchen curtains, the atmosphere clearer with the modest scent of his oaky cologne. Even on the worst days, Cors mere trail in the home was enough to lift whatever weight pressed down on the captains mind. 

His coat on the chair, his favourite mug on the table, his boots in the hall. A sensation akin to _home_.

The aroma of coffee becomes a rich distraction and a most welcome one. Cors returns again from the kitchen holding two dark blue mugs in each hand.

“No milk, no sugar,” Cor murmured as he handed one over.

Titus shuffled over enough for Cor to sit and rest against him, they drink together in warm silence. Slow and steady, not quite thinking of much. Cor reaches for the remote and turns the television on, he hums as he flips through the various channels; stopping on the news for only a second before he settled on some morning cooking show. Featuring some self-proclaimed chef, they looked much too energetic for a lazy Sunday such as this. 

“Do you want me to switch over to the news?” Cor asks.

Titus says no.

Whatever it is the show was cooking up held nothing intellectual or overtly profound. Only the host in all their simplicity bringing the viewer into the safe narrow world of a clean, five-star kitchen. It was perfect that way. No worries, no problems, it would have felt dishonest were it not for Cor pressed against him watching with genuine interest.

The Marshal himself was a very good cook, a perfect match to his philosophy of a healthy body for a healthy mind. His own kitchen was messy, but their night time dinner dates made the clean up thoroughly worth it. If anything, Titus found himself heavier with muscle then he did before this odd union of theirs. Cor gladly took the credit for it of course.  

“That doesn’t look half bad,” Cor remarked mid sip.

“What is she making?”

“A massaman curry; beef. Are you even paying attention?”

Titus sheepishly nods.

_Ding!_

“Is...there something in the oven already?”

Cor explains, “just heating up some croissants.”

The man slides out of bed again and busies himself unseen in the kitchen, soon bringing out a large bowl loaded with croissants, cold cuts and cheese. On the other hand he balances a small bowl of fruit on top two plates.

As he settles on the bed Titus makes room and helps him out with the load and evening out breakfast on the plates. It was a good meal to have in bed with someone like Cor, they could have eaten military issue gruel and it would still be a delightful thing all the same. So long as he could just watch Cors deft fingers work over his meal with expert care, see the way he carefully considers the angle of attack on the flaky pastry. His smile over something so simple and trivial as a warm meal in the comfort of a work free morning.  

They eat in peace and Titus has his fill, sighing in relief as he downs the last of his coffee. The chef on the television too, presents her work of art. A perfect curry.

A piece of strawberry is handed his way. “Here,” Cor murmurs mid chew through a piece of honeydew melon. 

Titus is slow to grab the piece of fruit so Cor takes the liberty to press it against his lips, rather taken aback Titus takes it all in one bite. Cor keeps his focus on the television, conveniently distracted at how he just successfully hand fed his partner without complaint.

He does it again, and again, until the small bowl is finished and they are curled up into each other again. Their eyelids grow heavy as the urge to sleep once again takes over from full bellies, in the slow, Sunday morning glow.

Titus suddenly just looks at Cor, and the other raises his brow.

Since Cor fell into his life, the Marshal brought nothing but goodness with him; no prejudice, animosity, judgment. A fact Titus had much trouble reconciling with, given the current state of the world and the man he’s forced to become.

How can a nirvana like this exist for a man like himself?

Titus leans in and kisses him like he did last night. Slow, chaste, full of a promise that causes Cor to come rushing in for more with his tongue, his hands pressed to Titus’ bare chest.

With a small breath Cor throws his arms around the captains neck tightly, so quickly lost to the intimacy, so willing to take the leap and drown in the desire he feels. So effortless. Titus’ arms find their way too, slowly but surely. He lets his hand run down Cors firm stomach before pushing through the faint resistance of the waistband of his trousers. He feels Cor, erect at the palm of his hand and earns himself a heady moan. So very aroused at his touch.

“Titus…” Cor breathes.

He falls onto his back and pulls the other on top of him, they kiss all the more. Slow and deep they begin to cherish one another again.

A taste of a life that could be, was rapidly becoming a desire for one. One where every other day was a bright Sunday such as this.        

  


End file.
